Blog Tour: The Phoenix – T.M. Smith

The Phoenix - T.M. Smith

T.M. Smith has a new paranormal/fantasy romance out, The Blood Coven Series Book 5: The Phoenix.

… isn’t just any witch. She’s the reader of the River Am, incomparable finder of lost objects, witch extraordinaire, sister of Alarik, aunt of Rein, daughter of Tor and Adriana, madwoman, and quirky bitch.

… is an enigma. He’s a raven shifter, a traitor, and a trespasser.

… the moment Indigo sees him bathing in her river, sparks ignite. Their actions afterward, though, could save humankind.

The novel is published by Evernight Publishing, and the completed series is best read in order, beginning with The Firebrand.

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Indigo peeked between the leaves of a thickly foliaged bush, her hand pressing down on a branch for a better view. The greenery tickled her nose. Her eyes narrowed into a squint.
Cheeky bastard. What’s he doing in my river?

With his broad back to her, a male submerged beneath a pool of water created by large boulders and fallen trees. He left behind only a ripple. After several moments, he exploded from the depths. Breaking the surface, he cut through the misty layer which floated atop the river.

Thu-thump. Thu-thump. Thu-thump.

Her heart stuttered against her ribs when he tossed his head from side to side, scattering droplets of moisture. His lazy fingers combed through short, wet, smoky black hair. The muscles of his huge, corded biceps flexed with the movement. Ribbons of water flowed from the top of his broad shoulders to his trim waist until they rejoined the river. Indigo licked her lips, imagining her tongue caressing his moist flesh.

Holy Gahya and hot stuff.

She brushed away dangling leaves to get a clearer view of the hunk.

A huge Phoenix tat in glorious technicolor filled the intruder’s back, from his shoulders to the upper curve of his tight ass. With its head angled upward, the bird’s beak nipped the trespasser’s neck. Wings unfolded from his spine, continuing until they curled around his biceps like decorative armlets. Talons perched atop his squeezable buttocks. And everywhere, the mass of brightly colored feathers glinted in the sun. If it were on his arm, she’d take him for a Scion Firebrand, a warrior who protected her realm, but his mark was bolder. It said I’m the biggest, strongest mutherfucker on Scath.

With a slow sensual pivot, the intruder presented a flawless, densely muscled bronze chest. He remained groin deep in the river. Indigo moaned in appreciation of a thin trail of hair arrowing down from his naval until it disappeared into the water.

Take one more step toward shore, she urged.

He did.

While Indigo twirled a springy curl around her finger, her heart drummed against her ribs. Her toes curled into the dewy grass. She swallowed hard. Oh, yeah. His package was king size, double X, mondo. And fricking erect.

Her breath caught in her throat when he froze. An I’m-hotter-than-shit cocky grin spread across his handsome, chiseled face. He swung his gaze in her direction, his crystal-gray laughing eyes capturing the light of the sun, glittering like sharp chips of smoky glass. Day-old stubble shadowed his square jaw as if he’d been too busy to shave this morning.

Indigo popped her hand off the branch, letting it snap into place. No way he spotted her.

Author Bio

T.M. Smith

After retiring from my career in education, I settled in to write something more creative than lesson plans on split infinitives and inner-school memos on noise in the hallway.

Vampires, demons, ylves, mages, and other magical beings keep me awake at night with their tales of love and adventure. Taking great interest in their lives, I began a paranormal romance series of five books with alpha males who aren’t always nice and females who have no problem keeping them in line. The Firebrand is the first book in the Blood Coven Series.

Here are more orts, scraps, and fragments from my life. (Thank you, Virginia Wolf and Shakespeare.) I moved from sunny Las Vegas to the less-than-sunny Pacific Northwest. Here I have adventures with my daughter, son-in-law, and two granddaughters who also moved to the area. I also enjoy my membership at Bainbridge Artisan Resource Network (BARN), a local organization that supports the arts and offers classes and events in eleven different studios. It was at BARN where my critique group began. With equal time given to in-depth comments on each other’s works, snarky remarks, and laughter, we have now been together nearly seven years.

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